


Setting Fire to Our Insides for Fun

by 26stars



Series: If You're Still Breathing [You Are the Lucky Ones] [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 000 word angst fic, Bobbi's only a year out of the Academy, F/F, Femslash February 2017, I just love how these two see right through each other, I thought I was gonna write PWP and of course it's turning into a 10, Melinda May is a rock star, Pre-Bahrain (Agents of SHIELD), Pre-Canon, They call her the Mockingbird, When the Mockingbird meets the Cavalry, never enough femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a simple extraction goes south, Agents Melinda May and Bobbi Morse find themselves stuck in a safehouse for twenty-four hours. It's just the time they needed to get to know each other better.</p><p>Title from "Youth" by Daughter</p><p>[finally updated!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I've officially lost myself to this ship. I think my disappointment with season 2 and fear of season 3 has me running back to pre-Canon times for new [relatively lighthearted] stories. This ship gets more and more believable to me the more I think about it, though.

**2005-Bulgaria**

The house is strategically placed--right on a hilltop so that the occupants can see in all directions, but within a thin forest of evergreens so that the house doesn’t draw the attention of anyone passing on another slope or on the river below. The slope is relatively clear all the way down to the river, which winds between the peaks, about 400 meters below them. Anyone who did manage to notice the unimpressive house would see only a concrete shelter, nothing extraordinary, probably another shepherd-family dwelling, abandoned for years. It’s a good place to hide a house. A great place.

All May can think, though, is that this place is an absolute _pain in the ass_ to reach unnoticed.

She’s counting on the fact that they came in at a good angle—out of sight of anyone inside the house watching towards the river. Yes, that meant hauling themselves out of the water a kilometer early and trekking up the hill in order to advance from the west, not south. And yes, that meant an extra thirty minutes in the freezing March air. But the exertion of the climb held off the chill until about five minutes ago, and even though this approach would be better to do under cover of darkness, she sure as hell wasn’t going to kill the two hours until dusk by just standing around waiting for hypothermia.

Now, as she presses herself against a tree and leans around to look towards the main entrance of the house, May feels the delayed shivers start inside her ribs and ripple outward. Even with an hour still to sundown, the sun has almost dropped behind the slopes. It’s only going to get colder.

They need to get into this house _now._

A fluttering whisper reaches her ears from over her shoulder. “You want me to cover the back or cover you?”

Agent Morse is pressed against a different tree a few yards away, her teeth clenched against involuntary chattering. Her gun is held ready, pulled against her chest, but May knows it’s waterlogged. For this, it might be just a prop.

“Cover me,” she whispers back. “Come to the door as soon as it’s open.”

With that, May crouches and steals swiftly across the remaining space between herself and the house, staying low, keeping her weapon up, until she slips below the peephole in front of the door. She slides one hand over the metal box beside the door until she finds the catch and a small panel opens, revealing a keypad. She types the code and raises her gun as the lock in the door clicks open.

Morse is immediately by her side as May rises to her feet.

“You take left,” she orders, and turns the knob.

They rush into the house, guns ready, and May moves swiftly into the first room on the right.

_Up. Down. Left. Right._

_No hostiles, no signs of life._

“Clear!” she calls, emerging and clearing the room further towards the back of the house.

“Clear!” Morse calls from the left room.

May has reached the opposite side of the tiny house. Still nothing.

“’Kay, I think we’re good!” she calls to the girl as she tugs a blackout curtain aside and checks the back of the house, the land behind it.

 _Finally, something that_ wasn’t _compromised._

She hears Morse return and shut the front door behind them, sliding three deadbolts and punching in the security code for good measure.

“First good break of the day,” the girl mumbles, holstering her weapon. _Now_ May hears her teeth chattering.

May pulls the curtain closed and turns to Morse as she joins her in the spare main room of the safehouse. There’s no furniture, but there is a fireplace with a gas line running beneath the wood rack. The room is stacked with crates, and judging by the layer of dust, it’s clear that this place hasn’t been used before.

“There should be firewood stashed in one of those bins,” she says to Morse, nodding at the crates stacked against the walls. “And if not, there ought to be a cellar somewhere around the house. Get a fire going, and let’s get this place warm.”

May holsters her own soaking gun and turns her attention to the walls and finds a control panel in a central wall. Behind the small, metal door, she finds the electric fuses and valves for the gas and water lines. Most importantly, there’s a secure phone line and a perimeter security system, which she activates after flipping all the switches on the fuse box. She hears the grid hum to life around them.

“With SHIELD’s funding, you’d think they’d’ve made a safehouse more comfortable than an equipment warehouse,” Morse says, flipping on the lights in the main room. She’s already found the right crate and is loading wood from a bin onto the rack in the fireplace.

“It’s Bulgaria,” May responds, lifting the receiver of the phone from the box. “How many times do you think they were expecting to need it?”

“Guess we’re lucky there’s even one in the area.” Now the girl is arranging smaller fuel pieces around the logs. She opens the damper in the chimney and glances back at May. “You turn the gas line on?”

May reaches in and opens the valve. “Yeah. Go for it.”

Morse digs out a kitchen lighter from the same crate and sets to work starting the fire as May dials with hands that tremble all the way up to her elbows. As the line connects, she bends over her wet boots and starts picking at the laces with her fingernails. Her hands are shaking too much to be any use though, and she nearly jumps she hears a voice in her ear.

“How was the weather today?” a pleasant voice on the other side of the wilderness asks her in English. May straightens up sharply.

“I've seen better weather on the underside of a capsized boat,” she responds, wondering just who comes up with these signs and counters.

“Confirmation numbers?” the voice then prompts tonelessly.

May recites her badge number and the mission codes. This, finally, brings some humanity into the man's voice. “Report, Agent May?”

“Extraction successful. Agent Morse’s cover was blown, however. We were involved in an auto pursuit through some difficult terrain, so we used defensive driving and then some offensive death-faking to stay alive.”

“Specifically?”

“I drove the car off the bridge and into a river.”

There is a moment of startled silence on the other side before the Agent recovers himself. “Status?” he prompts. May looks down at her aching wrist, touches the hair on her head that is matted with blood.

“No broken bones, but working against hypothermia as we speak.” Her teeth finally start to chatter into the phone, as if on cue.

“Copy that. We should be able to get you all a helivac by tomorrow night, barring inclement weather. The house should be stocked enough to keep you both a lot longer than that. We’ll make contact through this line at your 1200 tomorrow. Stay warm, stay alive.”

“Copy that.”

She hangs up without a word of comfort from the unknown agent on the other end.

She turns around and is surprised to see the fire is already bright and burning merrily in the fireplace with Morse kneeling in front of it, warming her hands. May crosses quickly to stand beside her, finally unzipping her jacket and working it off one arm at a time.

“Have I said ‘sorry’ yet this hour?” the girl asks, avoiding May’s eyes as she grabs the coat as it falls on the floor and spreads it out beside the fire to dry.

May doesn’t fight the impulse to reach out and flick the side of Morse’s head with her good hand. “Have I reminded you that you’re not supposed to be apologizing—this is just part of the job?”

“My cover was blown, and that’s why you’ve got a gash in the side of your head wide enough to hide my badge in.” Morse looks ashamed as she finally meets May’s eyes, and May realizes this is the first time she’s ever been looking _down_ at the girl. She almost smiles.

“The _badge_ is the reason for the gash, Morse,” May says, sitting down beside her. “Now quit pouting and help me get my shoes off.”

This, finally, brings a slight smile to Morse’s lips, and she turns and starts picking the knots out of May’s boots. “When’s the ride coming?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“How many times have you dislocated your wrist before?” Morse asks next, glancing up at May as she pulls one boot off and sets it near the fire. May raises an eyebrow, and Morse continues, “I’m guessing it dislocated when the airbag blew into it, but if you correctly relocated it yourself while we were still in the river, it must not be the first time you’ve had to do that.”

She smirks as she pulls the other boot off, fingers curling gently around the back of May’s ankle, and May feels the need to turn away, back towards the fire. She grabs the hem of her sweater with her good hand and twists it up over her head, squirming out of the wet garment and gently easing it off her sore wrist last. She turns it in the light of the fire, finally examining it. The joint still aches, but it’s not bruising or swelling, so that’s good...

“I was a gymnast when I was a kid,” she says as Morse works on her own shoes. “I missed a change on the uneven bars once and landed badly on my wrist—popped a bone out of place. And then it happened again when I took a tumble off the beam a few years later. It doesn’t take much to knock it out of place now. I’ve dislocated it on purpose before to escape bindings.”

“You want me to go ahead and splint it for you, just to be safe?” Morse asks, setting their soggy shoes beside the fire to dry out. “I’ll find the first-aid kit.”

Without waiting for a reply, she gets to her feet and goes back to opening the crates around them. May looks down at her river-soaked clothes and the wet spot Morse left on the floor. She thinks of the blood drying in her hair. The wrist can wait.

“There’s water and gas, so we might be lucky enough to have hot water. I’ll go find out,” she announces, standing and moving towards the doorway on the left without waiting for any reply.

Leaving the ring of warmth around the fire feels counterintuitive, but May forces herself through the side room, which has four army beds already assembled, to the bathroom beyond it, flipping on the lights. It’s spare and utilitarian, with only a toilet, sink, and a showerhead mounted in the wall in a small shower stall. Here too, the floors aren’t even tiled—just basic concrete. May sees the telltale gasbox beside the door and turns the tap on the shower, dialing it to the hottest option. As water rushes through the pipes, she hears the flames in the gas box roar to life, heating the water winding through the pipes inside it. Within seconds, steaming water is pouring out of the shower tap.

“Morse!” May calls, backing into the other room and opening the nearest crate. Sure enough-blankets, towels, and SHIELD jumpsuits of various sizes.

“Bobbi, remember?” the girl says as she appears in the doorway, hugging herself in the cold between the fire and the shower.

“Hot water,” May says, tossing her a towel from the bin. “Get under it and stay there until the chill’s out of your bones.”

Morse catches the towel but gives her a skeptical look. “And you’re going to wait by the fire and then wash your own head wound out? Don’t be ridiculous.” She catches May’s belt loop as she passes her and pulls her into the bathroom after her.

May is already shivering again, so she doesn’t bother protesting. She just tosses her towel in the sink and starts working on the button in her jeans. She gets them undone by herself, but pushing the soaking material down with one hand is harder than she expected.

“Here—I gotcha.”

Morse is already stripped bare as she steps in front of May and drops gracefully to her knees. May puts a hand on her shoulder for balance as the girl slides May’s jeans down to her ankles and then helps May step out, grabbing the wet socks with them. Something flutters in May’s stomach as the girl’s forehead presses against her thigh, as her fingers wrap around her calf and ankle… And when Morse stands and reaches for the hem of May’s thermal shirt, catching her eye with a questioning gaze, May just closes her eyes and raises her arms, letting Morse help her out of it.

The chilly air hits her damp skin like an ice bath, and May feels goosebumps rise across her body. She opens her eyes but drops her gaze immediately to her wrist with the pretext of checking it again in the gold bathroom light.

And then she feels Morse’s hand on her side, and she has to look up.

Bobbi’s gaze is carefully blank, and that’s how May knows that she knows. May looks at her, measuring the space between them, and something undeniably warm flickers to life behind her ribs.

“Come on.” The girl tugs her forward, but she’s moving too, backing into the shower stall and pulling May in after her.

May gasps as the water, scalding in comparison to the cold of the past few hours, splashes against her skin. Bobbi dials the tap down a little colder, and the two of them take turns beneath the spray, rinsing the stink of the river off their skin. Gradually, they work the temperature hotter, and May feels the chill finally receding from her limbs. She lets the water strike one side of her head, watching as the water at their feet takes on a red tint.

“Bled a lot more than I thought,” she observes tonelessly.

“Careful,” Bobbi cautions, reaching to shield the wound with her hand. “Don’t let the water beat on it too much or it’ll start bleeding again.”

 _Say something or do something,_ May’s thoughts urge her as she stares up through the eight-inch height difference between herself and the girl. But she doesn’t know where to start.

She hasn’t spent much time thinking about Bobbi since their first meeting last year, other than mentally filing the stories that have followed the young woman through the end of her Academy training and first few months as an active agent.

_Top of her class—handpicked for Special Ops._

_Infiltrated the Mob just to see if it was actually hard._

_Fury says she’s the best interrogator he’s seen since Romanoff._

_People are calling her the Mockingbird—she knows exactly how to sing the song you didn’t know you wanted to hear._

_Everyone who’s dated her says they wish they hadn’t._

_What makes you think you’re so special?_

And now, here they are, with nowhere to go for the next twenty-four hours, and May is sure that the hand resting against her head is not an accident.

 “You think there’s any soap or shampoo?” May finally says, dropping her gaze and pushing a hand through her matted hair.

Bobbi takes the hint and a half-step away. “If I go get it, I get to go first,” she says, flashing a playful smile.

“Deal.”

Bobbi doesn’t bother drying off as she steps out of the shower and hops into the other room. May stays under the hot spray and tries to force her heart rate down, tries to stop the parade of images of possibility. She listens to the sound of crates being opened and slammed in the next room until a cry of triumph announces success.

“Score!” the girl says as she comes back through the door with a few plastic packets in her hands, which she thrusts at May as she steps aside to let Bobbi back under the spray. May finds one labeled _Shampoo_ and tears it open with her teeth, passing it to Bobbi.

“I’m probably going to need another one of those,” the girl says as she squeezes it into her pile of hair, which was dyed a brassy red for the mission. “Sooner I get this color out, the better.”

“Not a fan of red?” May asks, ripping open another packed and passing it to her.

“Just ready to look like myself again.”

Bobbi moves out from under the spray and lets May step beneath it again, warming herself and starting to scrub down with one of the packets of body wash. In the interest of feeling totally clean, she tries to squirm out of her sports bra using one hand but quickly finds the task impossible. And she’s not surprised when she feels Bobbi’s hands helping her from behind, pulling the sodden garment off and tossing it onto the floor of the bathroom.

“We can wash it out later,” the girl says, rotating back under the spray and rinsing the suds out of her hair. Red dye deepens the pink tint on the floor. May turns around as she scrubs her chest, her stomach, her thighs.

And May feels the girl’s hands on the waistband of her underwear—

_Don’t do it, Melinda._

“Morse—“ she says quickly, and the hands on her hips freeze. May takes the opportunity to spin within the hold.

Bobbi is looking questioningly down at her, and May can tell she’s wondering if she totally misread the situation.

“Bobbi, remember?” she says, and somehow her tone is different, a sound that makes the warmth in her chest rise higher.

May finds herself unable to look away now, but she can’t seem to move her words from her mind to her lips.

_Tell her to back off._

_Remind her you’re the senior Agent._

_Everything about this is asking for trouble._

May considers her all of these but only says, “If you’re not planning on kissing me, then you’re going to have to stop touching me.”

_Damn it._

Bobbi stares at her for a moment, her expression unreadable, but then she smiles and says simply, “Oh, I _am_ planning on it.”

Inside her chest, the warm spark suddenly becomes a flame.

_Melinda, don’t-_

_Oh, fuck it._

May reaches for Morse, putting a hand on her side, palming around her bare ribs…but that’s all she has time to do Bobbi’s pulling May by her hips again, spinning her, putting her back under the spray of hot water. May blinks against the downpour but holds the girl’s gaze as she sinks to her knees again and pulls May’s underwear down her hips, this time taking her time dragging her fingers over the skin between May’s thigh and ankle. After May steps out of the soaked fabric, Morse tosses them out of the shower too, never taking her eyes off May’s. Her hands slide up the sides of May’s calves, thighs, hips, stomach, shoulders, neck as the girl stands, crowding into May’s space so that they’re both beneath the beating spray. Their chests press together as Morse wraps her arms around May’s shoulders, holding her like a slow dance as May leans towards her…

But Morse ducks her head to May’s ear and finally continues, her tone husky. “As soon as we’re both clean and warm and your head is stitched up, I am going to kiss you right there.” May can’t see it, but Morse’s finger presses lightly on May’s scalp, just south of the wound. “And right here-“ Morse’s fingers brush May’s aching wrist, “because both of these are my fault. And then I’m going to kiss you here-“ her fingers slide over May’s collarbone, “because you’ve been carrying a lot more responsibility than you should be. And then I’ll kiss you here-“ Bobbi’s fingertips draw a light path to May’s sternum “and here-“ they drop lower, drawing a diagonal line towards her opposite hip, covering the rising bruises that the seatbelt left when their car struck the water, “and I just might keep going if you let me. But I’ll only kiss you here-“ her fingers return to May’s cheek, the thumb sliding gently over her lower lip, “when I've got you wanting me as badly as I am wanting you right now. How’s that sound?”

_They’re not lying._

May is sure her eyes must be blown black, is sure that Bobbi must be able to feel the heat that’s rising on her already-flushed skin. For a few seconds, she doesn’t move, can barely even breathe, but then her brain catches up and she is able to fixate on the last phrase and fumble out a reply.

“That,” she chokes out, her voice hoarse, “sounds good.”

And she grabs Bobbi with a hand behind her neck and drags their lips together.

It’s _good_. Great, really, and _God, it shouldn’t be easy to forget how much nicer it is kissing a woman than a man.._. But Morse is bigger and taller and not so easily controlled. She indulges May with a few seconds of a relatively chaste kiss before the hand on May’s cheek turns strong and pushes her back.

“I said, _after_ I stitch up your head,” Morse says with a tone that sounds a little to scolding for May’s liking. She almost scowls up at the girl who is holding her naked body and not doing anything with it.

“Don’t patronize me,” she snaps, not releasing her hold on Bobbi’s neck, “I’m the senior agent here.”

Morse rolls her eyes. Then, imitating May’s gesture from earlier, she actually flicks May’s head just beside the wound, and the spark of pain is sobering. “And that’s a gaping head wound that’s been open to a river and the elements for more than three hours. Don’t lecture me for following medical protocol. Anyway—” The girl leans into her until lips brush May’s ear. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

May feels fingertips trace lightly up the inside of her thigh before withdrawing as Morse pulls back. And May is sure she must be wearing the most embarrassingly salacious expression, because Morse just laughs, grabs a packet of shampoo, and starts helping May wash out her hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still so interested in how Bobbi's backstory is going to get fleshed out this season on the show, but I don't want to get my hopes up. For May, I used the headcanon that I explored in the character study fic I wrote back in August.

“How’s that anesthesic doing?”

“Tingles are starting to fade,” May says from where she’s curled on her side of the mattress, watching Bobbi threading a curved needle in the firelight.

After they finally worked up the nerve to leave the warmth of the shower, they’d redressed (commando under SHIELD jumpsuits with three pairs of socks each), then dragged a mattress from one of the beds into the main room, where May covered it with every blanket in the house while Bobbi found the camp stove and started a kettle of water boiling. Once they each had a mug of tea and a couple of power bars in their systems (because yeah, now that you mention it, neither of us has eaten since breakfast…), Morse had set to work splinting May’s wrist and cleaning out the gash in her head before injecting a local anesthetic for surgery.

“Okay, then, let’s do this. Come put your head over here.” Morse pats her thigh, and May lays down on her side facing the fire, wound to the ceiling, her wet hair twisted out of the way and stuck between her cheek and Bobbi’s leg.

“You feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Perfect.”

She hears the girl pick up the needle off the paper and feels gentle fingers spread the gash carefully. Morse lets out a slow breath above her.

_First time._

“Tell me a story while I work,” Bobbi requests as the needle pokes through May’s scalp and reaches through the other side. “When was the first time you had to put stitches in someone else?”

May thinks back to her Academy days, which already feel like another lifetime. The memory surfaces, and it makes her smile.

“It was a field test during my third year,” she says, as she tries to ignore the snipping of scissors and the distant tugging of a needle and thread pulling her scalp back together. “My class was in Laos, and we were working on navigation and espionage training. I was on a team with Jon Krivjansky and Carolyn Mathis—have you met either of them?”

“I think I’ve met Mathis,” Morse says above her. “She’s blonde, right? Her dad’s CIA?” _Snip_.

“Yeah, that’s her. Well, it was a week-long assignment, so unless you broke a bone or ran a fever over 103, you had to just make it through the week and take care of each other. Everything was going fine for my team until the fifth day, when Krivjansky and Mathis were unloading the boat—which Krivjansky had not tied up properly-so Mathis fell into the river with a nice, heavy crate in her arms when she was trying to step out.”

“Ouch. Which part of her did you have to stitch up?” _Tug._

“Her? I had to stitch _him_ up when they got back to camp. She kicked his ass.”

Morse laughs, a bouncing chuckle that May can feel even in the leg beneath her ear. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” the girl says above her. “I probably would have done the same.”

May smiles but tries to hold her head still. “I was _almost_ sympathetic. Mathis was already sick of the jungle and I'm pretty sure she was already coming down with malaria, and then she had a split lip from the fall—but I was mad at her for hurting our teammate and she was mad at Kriv and, of course, he was pissed at her…anyway, it was a long week. I separated them and stitched him up. Kriv still complains that his hair doesn’t grow right anymore where I put the stitches in.”

“Well, hopefully I won’t give you two something in common,” Morse says above her.

_Snip. Tug. Snip._

Her hands are awfully steady.

“ _Is_ this your first time?” May asks.

“You asking because I’m going slow? I prefer to do things right the first time.” _Tug. Snip._ “Is it yours?”

May hears the question beneath the question. _Tug._

“No,” she answers.

 _Snip_. “Mine either.”

She hears the tools being set aside. Hears hydrogen peroxide bubbling over her wound again and feels a gauze square dabbing it off. Hears Morse pulling off the nitrile gloves and stuffing everything in a hazmat bag, sealing it shut and tossing it across the room.

“Done.”

And then she feels Morse’s lips press gently against her hair.

May feels her heartbeat pick up immediately, but she lies still, enjoying the gentleness of the moment. She feels one of Morse’s hands curled tenderly around the top of her head, the other trailing gently down her shoulder. She feels the girl lift her splinted hand, gently raising it to her lips and kissing the backs of her fingers softly.

“Sorry I got you hurt,” Morse says against her skin before setting May’s hand gently back on her side.

“Glad I got you out.”

They stay like that for a while, warming further beside the crackling fire, and Morse runs her fingers gently through May’s hair as it dries in the heat.

“Why’d you join SHIELD?” Bobbi eventually asks, and May finally turns, rolling over on her back, her head still pillowed on Morse’s leg.

“I thought that was your specialty--telling people their life stories before they tell you themselves?”

“Yep, so sometimes I’m asking questions just to see if the person’s going to lie to me or not. Sometimes it’s because I don’t know the answer. No way for you to know though.” She glances down at May with a small smile.

“Tell me something about myself then—let me see how well you’re doing so far,” May challenges.

Bobbi shakes her head, looking back up at the fire. “I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

May feels her brow furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Bobbi sighs. “People _think_ they want others to know all about them, but when they hear personal facts rattled off by someone who barely knows them, a lot of people get defensive. Most people get scared.”

“What if I promise not to get scared?”

“You can’t promise not to feel something.”

“How about if I promise not to get defensive?”

Bobbi glances down at her again, makes a _you asked for it_ face, then looks back towards the fire and starts talking.

“Your parents spoke both Chinese and English in your home growing up, so technically _both_ are your first language. One of your parents, I’m guessing your mom, is from the Shanghai area, or otherwise had parents who were. You moved around a lot when you were a kid, but somewhere on the list of homes are Florida, Texas, and the Mid-Atlantic. You haven’t talked to your dad in awhile. You have an MMA background, but the gymnastics was a gap I hadn’t filled in yet, and it makes a lot of sense now. Based on your badge number, you didn’t go to college _before_ you became an Agent. Based on what happened in the shower, you’re kind of turned on when your partner takes charge. And now, based on your heart rate, you’re getting nervous because I haven’t gotten anything wrong yet.”

_Mockingbird._

May lies silent, staring up at the girl, who stares ahead into the fire, one hand is still distractedly smoothing through May’s hair.

“See? It’s a mood-killer,” Bobbi finally says. “Guessing where people are from is a good party trick, but anything more personal, and I’m probably going to hurt at least one person’s feelings.”

“You think _that’s_ why my heart’s beating fast?”

Morse’s hand stills in her hair, and May finally sits up slowly. As she turns to face Bobbi, she feels her hair fall back into its usual part, hiding the stitches like a curtain. The girl is watching her, expression unreadable. May notices that her hair has nearly dried, too, softening into loose curls on her shoulders, the color glinting gold in the firelight. Any makeup she had been wearing has been washed completely off, and May is struck by just how _young_ she looks.

“You didn’t go to school either before you went to the Academy, did you?” she hears herself asking.

“You think I look too young?” the girl smirks at her. “I was eighteen and two years into a bachelor’s in biochem when SHIELD recruited me for Science. But I was only there a few weeks before I showed off a little too much in front of some visiting directors, and they convinced me to transfer to Operations. Finished the degree anyway.”

“And here you are in Bulgaria.”

“Thank goodness. I wasn’t made to stay in a lab.”

Bobbi stands then, padding across the concrete floor on socked feet to fetch the kettle off the camp stove.

“Did you get enough to eat?” she asks as she returns to the mattress and bends to pour more hot water into each of their mugs.

“For now,” May answers, picking up her cup again and wrapping her hands around the warmth.

Morse crosses the room again to set the kettle on the stand, and May sees her double-check the burner to make sure it is shut all the way off. 

“Think we should grab another mattress? I mean, I assume you want to sleep out here tonight, right?” Morse doesn’t look at her as she returns to the fireplace and crouches beside it to add more wood from the pile she’d unloaded from the crate earlier.

May feels her gaze lingering on places below Bobbi’s shoulders.

“I think we’ll be warm enough,” she replies lightly, setting her mug beside the mattress.

Bobbi finishes arranging the logs with the poker and finally turns as she sets it aside, her hair catching the light, shadows falling over her features as she looks towards May.

May lets her see her eyes wander south, down the girl’s throat to the open collar of her jumpsuit. Her eyes haven’t even returned to Bobbi’s face before the girl is shifting, settling back on the mattress beside May, her legs curled beneath her.

“How’s your head feel?” she asks, studying May’s face.

“Can’t feel anything,” May answers, leaning back on one hand.

“Well, if anything starts to hurt or not feel totally right, you tell me, understand?” Morse says, holding her gaze. “No reason to be more medically irresponsible than the job requires.”

“Job’s over now,” May reminds her.

“Thank God.”

Bobbi finally turns, unfolding her legs and stretching them out in front of her, into May’s space. She extends one hand like an invitation, a small smile on her lips, and May finally moves. She tries to maintain a shred of dignity by not going too quickly as she crawls over the blankets, planting a knee on either side of Bobbi’s hips. The girl’s hands land on her sides as May settles on Bobbi's thighs and puts her hands on her shoulders, then slides her hands up to cradle Bobbi’s face.

But as she leans in to finally kiss her again, Bobbi stops her, the pad of her thumb firm against May’s chin, holding her intoxicatingly close and frustratingly far. In this position, May is, at last, barely taller, but she’s amazed to realize that Bobbi is still absolutely in control.

“I don’t think we’re even yet,” the girl breathes up at her, and May can feel the air currents carrying the words ghost over her own lips. May doesn’t see her other hand move, but suddenly there’s fingertips on her inner thigh, sliding higher than the last time before disappearing again. May’s breath catches, and Bobbi’s eyes glint mischievously. “Let me see what I can do about that,” she whispers before ducking her head and pressing a kiss against May’s neck.

And, frustrated as she is, May is eager to see what Bobbi has in mind.

Morse’s face stays tucked into the curve of May's shoulder as her hands return to her hips before falling, sliding unhurriedly down May’s thighs. May doesn’t know what to do with her own hands so she just lets them fall again to Bobbi’s shoulders, helping her to balance as she rises up slightly onto her knees as the girl’s hands slip around to the backs of her thighs, returning to her hips along the curve of her ass. Bobbi lifts her head and meets May’s eyes as her hands slide higher, up the hourglass of her sides to her shoulders.

“I’ve still a few promises to keep,” the blonde reminds May, eyes sparkling in the gold light as her fingertips trace over the V of exposed skin at her sternum.

“'Bout time,” May returns, smirking back.

The girl leans back a little, her gaze focused downwards as her fingers grasp the tab of the zipper on May’s jumpsuit. She takes her time as she pulls the zipper down, down, past May’s navel, the navy fabric parting, revealing the flushed skin beneath. Bobbi’s fingertips trail lightly over the path of bared skin before returning to May’s shoulders, where she parts the fabric agonizingly slow. May lets her arms fall so that Bobbi can push the garment gently off her shoulders, smoothing over the rises of her collarbones, down the planes of her back. As the jumpsuit falls and bunches at her elbows, Morse pushes the sleeves down, one arm at a time, before freeing May of each cuff and letting the material pile around May’s waist.

The air is cold against her skin, and she feels herself automatically shifting closer to Bobbi. The girl’s arms open for this, her hands sliding down the skin of May’s bare back, then up again, pulling May back just far enough to look at her, all of her, with clear intention.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Bobbi breathes, meeting her eyes, and May doesn’t even have time to puff under the praise before Bobbi presses her lips to May’s skin and starts taking her apart.

She does exactly as she promised in the shower, starting with her shoulder. Soft but deliberate kisses begin at the base of May's neck and march slowly outwards to the point of her shoulder, then back along the nearer rim of her collarbone. May is startled by her own gasp as Bobbi licks into the cup of her collarbone, and then she feels the lips against her skin turning into a smile.

“I knew it,” the girl mutters proudly, but before May can ask what she means, her lips are back against her skin, falling lower.

Her mouth covers the diagonal path where May already knows dark bruises will rise in full force tonight, the place where the seatbelt saved her life by holding her back from the steering wheel of their car as it slammed into the surface of the river. Bobbi’s lips are gentle, occasionally straying off the path to press where there is no pain, her tongue occasionally darting out to flick or drag along her skin. May’s heart is hammering beneath her ribs as Morse’s face slips between her breasts, and even as she rises up on her knees a little so that the girl can continue the path towards her hip, Bobbi suddenly raises her head and presses a kiss against May’s breast.

May doesn’t try to cut off her sound of surprise, but one of her hands flies immediately to grab at Bobbi’s hair, an automatic reaction. The girl turns her head, resting her cheek directly on May’s nipple.

“Tell me to stop,” she challenges, her hands sliding around May’s hips, grasping at her ass.

“Don’t you dare,” May says, and Bobbi smirks again before returning her lips to their previous task.

She takes her time teasing at her breast, one hand sliding up to palm the other side while her lips and tongue and even, occasionally, gentle scrapes of her teeth pull gasps and soft groans out of May’s throat. May’s eyes fall closed and her hand remains buried in Bobbi’s hair, holding her close, holding on nearly for dear life by the time the girl turns her attention to the other side.

May is so lost in the moment that she jumps a little when she feels nails drag gently down her back just as the hand on her chest slips straight down to the place her legs join.

“ _Oh_ ,” she moans, grinding down against Morse’s hand as the girl finds the right angle and her fingertips tease May through the fabric...

“I think,” Bobbi says, lifting her head, “we’re about even now.”

And then she grabs May’s neck with her other hand and finally brings their lips together again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a time that I thought this whole fic was going to be a one-chapter flashback in Part 3's story. Now I see that that was never gonna happen.
> 
> Shorter chapter, but it felt right to break here before the next part.

This time, nobody’s pushing anyone back. No one’s trying to get anyone to slow down.

May buries herself in the kiss like an overeager teenager, wrapping one arm around the girl’s back and bringing her other hand to rest against Bobbi’s cheek. Predictably, the kiss is as good as everything else the girl has done to her so far, and May feels her heart rate only speeding up further the longer they press into each other. Bobbi's lips are soft but no more yielding than the rest of her—and when her lips part and she lets May’s tongue brush hers, she can tell that Bobbi isn’t trying to keep control but she _is_ making an effort to match her, flawlessly meeting May right where she wants her to.

May’s hands can’t stay still, sliding constantly between cradling the other woman’s face, carding through her hair, trailing down the outline of her curves through the single layer of clothing…and Bobbi’s hand hasn’t stopped rubbing unhurriedly between her legs, the other settled firmly on May’s neck, holding her close, holding her in a kiss that leaves them both gasping at the end. Finally, May has to force herself to draw back before it becomes too much, too soon.

“This needs to go,” she manages after pulling in a ragged breath, tugging at the fabric of Bobbi’s jumpsuit.

Bobbi’s eyes are bright, her lips flushed dark, as she releases her hold on May and leans back slightly, resting her weight on her hands.

“Why don’t you do something about it?” the girl says suggestively, shaking her hair back behind her shoulders, all but putting herself on display for May, who can’t help but marvel at the confidence at is so apparent in everything the girl has done so far. Every gesture has seemed certain, assured, unhesitating, as though Bobbi already knows what May’s reaction will be.

As though she already knows how this chain of events is going to unfold.

And this, finally, gives May pause.

She stills, staring into Bobbi’s darkened eyes, looking for the wheels that surely must be turning in her brain. Abruptly, her own mind supplies the rest of the sentence that went through her head earlier.

_Everyone who’s dated her says they will they hadn’t…_

_Because it’s hard to feel like you’re not being manipulated, just like everyone else._

Instead or reaching for the zipper of Bobbi’s jumpsuit, May forces her hands to move instead to the girl’s shoulders.

“This isn’t…” Her voice is embarrassingly hoarse, and she clears her throat, trying to hold onto a modicum of dignity, even as she straddles the younger agent half-naked. “This doesn’t leave this house. Understood?”

Bobbi just blinks at her, seeming unsurprised by the sudden admonition. “I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

May lets her silence tell Bobbi that it’s not. The girl is watching her face carefully, waiting for May’s next reaction, and as she processes this answer, she sighs and sits back up, leaning into May again. Her arms reach around her, as though returning to their previous embrace, but rather than hands against her skin, May feels a blanket being pulled up off the mattress to wrap around her body.

“Mel,” the girl says, closing the blanket around May’s bare torso as though shutting a book, “I know how this works.”

May doesn’t remember the last time anyone in SHIELD besides Phil called her something other than her surname or her full name. It’s startling to hear from this young agent.

Bobbi looks up at her, the color of her dark blue eyes barely distinguishable in the slant of gold light across her face. “Whatever we do or don’t do tonight, I won’t mention it again after we leave, to you or anyone else, if you don’t want me to. And if you aren’t sure that you want to do this, then let’s stop here.”

May stares down at her, disarmed by the gesture, surprised by how quickly the direction has changed.

And of course, Bobbi’s two steps ahead of her.

“Why would I be playing you, Mel? You think I’m going to use this as leverage? Use this as blackmail?” The young woman meets her eyes. She doesn’t look hurt— _She’s not letting me_ see it _if she’s hurt_ —but it does seem like she’s had this conversation before.

Her hands move back to the blanket, gripping the edges of the material at May’s sternum like she might hold the lapels of someone’s coat.

“You’re not a mark, Mel, and you’re not just a warm body I want against me: you’re my friend. And if doing this is going to ruin that for both of us, then I’d rather we didn’t.”

May sees the play- _I’m putting this on you to be the distrustful one._

_She won’t let me see what she really wants._

“Why are we doing this, Morse?” May returns to the agent’s surname, a ridiculous formality when the girl has already spent the last few minutes buried in her bare chest…

Morse’s lips turn in a small smile, strangely innocent considering their position.

“Because you want to.”

And those words chill May.

 _No,_ she thinks firmly. _Not this._

May knows this is the kind of conversation that shouldn’t involve her sitting on the other speaker, so she rises up onto her knees, and Morse withdraws her legs as May shifts off them. She leans back, sitting down on the mattress so that they’re both cross-legged facing one another. Within the blanket, May starts working her arms back into the sleeves of her jumpsuit.

“I won’t let you do that, Morse. I won’t let you—“

“Nobody _lets_ me do anything,” Morse cuts her off, the smile disappearing, her eyes flashing a little. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.” Her tone is not harsh, but it has thickened to a lower timbre, the faintest warning, a reminder that the girl across from her is a trained field agent, a woman capable and trained to save lives and to take them.

 _I know what I’m doing,_ her eyes warn May.

 _Do I?_ May thinks to herself.

She stares the girl down, absorbing the warning, putting her own Agent face back on. She lets the blanket part as she shrugs the jumpsuit back up over her shoulders, letting it fall and pile on the mattress behind her as she zips the garment back up.

“Let me try again, then,” May says. “I don’t want you to let yourself be used for my sake. Sorry, but I kind of like for my partners to be as into things as I am.”

Now Morse’s eyebrows go up.

“Did I give you any signal that I was not a hundred percent into it?”

_Replying with questions—oldest deflection trick in the book._

“How about we skip the circle-jerking?” May says. “Tell me what you’re doing. Tell me what you want.”

She’s not sure what kind of reply she’s expecting. Single-word ideas, names of certain sex acts, complete sentences revealing her soul…but either way, May isn’t expecting the words that come out of Bobbi’s mouth.

“May, I am not some kid who’s got some post-adrenal libido after a mission and wants to try to get lucky with her Senior Agent. I’m a girl who’s been interested in you since I met you, and every mission I’ve watched you on since then has only impressed me more. Xinjiang, Berlin, Johannesburg, Jakarta, Cairo, Buenos Aires? You’re a rockstar, May. I’m honored just to be on a mission with you.”

She pauses for just a moment, letting May absorb this, before leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees.

“So what do I want, May?” Bobbi continues, her eyes intent on hers. “I want to see the rest of you—again—in a different way than just standing in a shower with you. I want to see how you’re built and study your scars so that I can know the stories you’ve lived through. I want to see what your body can do and admire you even more for it. I want to make you feel the best you’ve felt in a long time—and yeah, I want to impress you by doing it the way you like best without you needing to tell me how. But more than that,” May almost jumps as she feels fingers brush hers, interlacing and pressing their hands together palm-to-palm. She can’t take her eyes off Morse’s, though. “More than that, May, I want you to trust me. I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to respect me. And if this—if doing any of this—is going to take that away, then I want to stop right now. So I’ll leave that call up to you.”

And she does.

They remain in that position, unmoving, for a long moment, fingers interlaced and knees almost bumping. Shadows and light dance across Bobbi’s features as the fire crackles and hisses beside them, and for some reason, May thinks _phoenix_ rather than a _mockingbird_.

 _This is going to bring nothing but trouble,_ she thinks again.

May decides that in this case, she doesn’t care.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

She extends her other hand toward Bobbi. As the girl takes it, May pulls her forward, leaning back onto the mattress as Bobbi unfolds her almost-six-foot frame and stretches out above May on her hands and knees. She hovers over her, her lips parted, eyes expectant, and May realizes that she’s waiting to hear her say it in no uncertain terms.

She keeps it simple. “I want this.”

Finally, she sees Bobbi smile, one that looks like it comes from several layers within.

“Okay.”

And just to make sure there’s no confusion, May moves her arms and catches the zipper on Bobbi’s jumpsuit, unzipping it to her navel before the girl can stop her.

“If you’re going to make it as good as you’re promising,” May says, smirking up at Bobbi’s surprised expression, “then I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to let you drag it out.”

But Bobbi’s not going to give up control just yet. She grins wickedly as she grabs May’s zipper too, yanking it down and exposing her bare chest again before sinking down on top of May, their flesh pressed together.

“If I’m making you want to rush, then I’m not doing a good job,” she murmurs, grinding her hips down against May’s, whose sucks in a sharp breath.

“You’ve got twenty-four more hours to make up for it,” May manages, shakily before weaving a hand into Bobbi’s hair and dragging their lips together again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was going to be a simple, almost-PWP oneshot once upon a time. Seems like I can never let my characters off easy though.
> 
> I'd be lying if I said I wasn't watching season 3a with this headcanon in mind, and seeing Bobbi and May working together onscreen just makes me more certain they would have gotten along great when they were younger (before the field wrecked them). We never really get much about May having friends besides Coulson, but come on...

The fire’s gone down and the room is dim with daylight edging around the blackout curtains when May opens her eyes the next morning. It takes her a minute to process their location, to remember this house that she had never seen before yesterday, to remember where she has been and where is now.

_Bulgaria._

_Agent Morse._

_Extraction._

_Safe._

As her senses all come online, the _second_ thing she feels is the warmth surrounding all of her body that’s beneath the covers and the cold air against everything above it.

The _first_ thing she feels is the pain.

Her head is throbbing in a very specific place, and as soon as she shifts, she feels exactly where the sash of bruises has risen across her ribs and stomach. Her wrist still aches, and the arm that she’s been sleeping on is full of pins and needles.

But there is also a heartbeat pressed against her back, there is a strong arm around her middle and a hand resting near her heart, and, she finally realizes, soft breath puffing lightly against the back of her head.

At first, May is surprised. She’s not usually able to tolerate cuddling when she’s actually trying to sleep, and this is a perfect example of why. The flesh pressed against her is warm—almost uncomfortably so. But as soon as she shifts into the cool, untouched part of the blanket, she realizes why she was actually able to sleep like this. _Too damn cold for anything else._

Bobbi seems to be sound asleep beside her, but as May shifts slightly, attempting to roll onto her back within the embrace, the girl sucks in a sharp breath. May feels the arm around her tighten slightly, and she rolls onto her back and looks over just in time to see the girl’s eyes flutter open.

There is only a half second of confusion in Bobbi’s gaze before their location seems to register in her mind. Then her eyes are turning on May, and she is shifting back slightly to take a good look at her.

“How’s your head?” Her voice is cottony and soft with sleep. Her eyes are trying to focus, but the resulting squint looks so uncharacteristically perplexed that it makes May smile a little even as she replies concisely.

“Hurts.”

Bobbi’s arm leaves her ribs, and then warm fingertips are brushing against May’s forehead and the side of her face.

“I’m not feverish,” May says quickly, looking up at the girl. “It just hurts like stitches always hurt. Like your skin got sliced apart and then got eighteen little holes added for good measure.”

“I’ll dig up some painkillers as soon as we get up,” Morse says, brushing May’s hair back and inspecting the stitches. “We don’t have any antibiotics…the soonest we can get some in your system is when we get back to base…” Bobbi looks more awake now, her brow furrowing, her eyes intent as she rocks up on one elbow, continuing to inspect the wound.

“Morse, I feel fine,” May insists, batting her hand away. “Medical will be on our cases enough tonight, you don’t have to do it to yourself, too.”

“Still—“

“Bobbi.”

May levers off the mattress and rolls directly on top of the girl, skin against skin. She lets her full weight press down on her, knowing it’s nothing Bobbi can’t handle. Morse’s eyes are surprised, but her arms immediately wrap around her, holding her in a gentle embrace. May looks down at her sternly. “Stop.”

And then she gives her something else to think about.

May ducks her head and presses her lips against Bobbi’s jaw, then continues with a line of gentle kisses falling towards her ear. She connects the path to her neck, dropping downwards towards her shoulder. At the base of her neck, May pinches the skin gently with her teeth, eliciting a small gasp from the girl below her. She feels Bobbi’s hands sliding down her back until her nails drag gently over the curve of May’s ass, making her shiver a little.

Rocking her hips gently, May begins to move, grinding her pelvis down against Bobbi’s while she nips at the same place on her neck again. This time, the girl moans softly in her throat, and all May wants to do is anything that lets her hear that sound again.

And _of course_ that’s the moment when the phone behind the wall starts ringing.

May lets out a groan blanketed in a sigh and lets her face fall against Bobbi’s shoulder. Beneath her, the girl lets out a small laugh—all breath, no sound.

“Not it,” Bobbi chuckles, and May looks up to see her touching a fingertip to her nose, a teasing smile on her lips.

May shakes her head. “It’s freezing and I’m naked, so I’m pulling rank, Agent Morse.” May shifts off of the girl, landing on her stomach beside her.

Bobbi’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, she just grins wider. “My name is Bobbi, I’m naked too, and I said ‘not it’.”

May narrows her eyes at her. “Are you ten years old?”

“Are you going to answer the phone or not?”

May switches tactics. “Wounded soldier.”

“Faithful doctor,” Bobbi responds, not missing a beat.

“Well-timed extraction.”

“Eight weeks undercover.”

“Morse.”

“May.”

So May heaves a dramatic sigh and gets up, but she takes the blanket with her.

“Ngh…” Bobbi moans, immediately curling her naked body into the fetal position and grabbing at one of the blankets they were sleeping on top of in order to throw it over herself. “Okay… that’s fair,” she groans as May crosses the cold floor quickly in bare feet and reaches into the wall for the phone.

“How’s the weather today?” she mumbles into the receiver, letting down one corner of the blanket to stand on, holding the rest tightly around herself.

“I’ve seen better weather on the underside of a capsized boat,” a different agent’s voice says from the other side.

May closes her eyes, even though the agent on the other side of the call can’t see her. “If you’re about to tell me there’s a boat involved in this extraction--” She lets her tone sound as threatening as possible, even when there’s no way for her to beat out a better option.

“Chopper will be there at 2300 tonight, Agent May. The coordinates are…”

May listens, storing the numbers in her memory using the techniques she was taught at Academy. It doesn’t sound too far from here.

She recites them back to the agent and gets confirmation. “All right. 2300. We’ll be there.”

“Make sure you close up shop appropriately,” the agent on the other end reminds her. “Bring the inventory and log with you.”

“Copy that.”

May hangs up and immediately hops across the floor and back onto the mattress. Bobbi tosses her blanket back and May throws her own back over her so that they are wrapped in the cocoon of warmth together as she lies down again.

“So—2300 tonight,” she says, shoving her cold, bare feet beneath Bobbi’s calves.

“Mmm. So we still have a whole day to kill.” Morse doesn’t open her eyes, but she winds her arms around May’s body, drawing her against her chest, redistributing the body heat between them. “Were you planning on finishing what you started, or do we need to table that for later?”

Something strange curls in May’s stomach at the idea of _later_.

 _One night stands usually end when your feet touch the floor the next morning. But since_ both _of us haven’t made it out of bed yet…_

“Depends if you want to find out how cold my hands are,” she replies lightly.

And then Bobbi is laughing.

It breaks out of her chest with hardly any wheezing buildup, a big, gorgeous sound accented with shaking that May can feel even in the mattress beneath them. More amused than perplexed, May draws back a little, watching the spectacle.

“Something I said?”

“I don’t know…it just struck me as funny…” Bobbi chokes out in words that tremble with mirth, pressing a hand over her eyes. Even in the dim light, her smile is radiant.

 _Beautiful_.

May doesn’t let herself think anymore. She slides one hand over Bobbi’s stomach, up over her chest, as a single warning, and then rolls back on top of her and resumes her task from before.

Bobbi’s laughter trails off into a pleasured sigh as May ducks her head and presses kisses against the girl’s collarbone, finding the mirror-image path of bruises on Bobbi’s skin and steering clear of them except for light drags of her fingers.

Bobbi’s legs part easily as May nudges her thigh between them, and she immediately presses down into the contact as May continues working her way down the girl’s chest. The skin under her hands is soft, but when she presses against Bobbi she can feel the same firmness of toned muscle that builds every field agent. She slides a hand from Bobbi’s stomach, intending to drag down to her knee and tuck her leg up around her hip, but just as her fingernails meet the place where hip becomes thigh…

Beneath her, Bobbi gasps and jerks away, her eyes flying open.

Startled, May draws back, rising up on her hands and knees and preparing an apology and a question, but Bobbi beats her to it.

“No, it’s fine—you didn’t do anything wrong,” she’s already assuring her, looking sheepish even as she grasps May’s sides to keep her from moving further away. “I’m just…ticklish in weird places.”

May stares down at the girl, feeling her incredulousness show on her face. “Really.”

On the mattress beneath her, Bobbi shrugs. “Everyone’s got an Achilles’ heel somewhere.”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah you do,” Bobbi responds without hesitation.

May takes the bait. “Prove it.”

She barely sees the girl move before there are fingers dancing along her shoulder before digging into the space behind her collarbone, and May is startled by her own sound of surprise as she lunges away from the touch.

“Told you,” Bobbi grins, her hands falling back to May’s hips as she throws herself back, sitting up on Morse’s thighs and glaring down at her, irrationally embarrassed.

“Guess we’re even then.” And then she grabs at Bobbi’s hip again, digging her fingers into the same sensitive place that made her squirm earlier, and then Bobbi’s laughing and shrieking and grabbing right back as she rolls away and takes May with her…

The wrestling is fun for all of six seconds, but then they’re tumbling off the mattress and May’s head is bumping the concrete floor right as her palm flies out and pushes Bobbi back right on the bruises, and that’s enough to halt everything right there as they both flinch away from one another, groaning.

“Okay…” Bobbi is mumbling, rocking off May and rolling back onto the mattress, tugging May after her. “I think we need to call a truce.”

May’s head is throbbing again, and as she lies down on the mattress beside Bobbi, the ache of the bruises seems to echo through her ribcage. “Truce,” she agrees, sighing and letting her eyes fall shut. When Bobbi wraps around her, she doesn’t flinch away, but she doesn’t reach for more either.

As mood-killers go, this was certainly an effective one.

A few quiet moments pass before Bobbi seems to wake herself up again, sighing into May’s hair before patting her thigh beneath the blanket.

“Okay,” the girl says with a sigh. “I owe ya.”

Bobbi shifts out of the embrace, scooting away from May and tucking the blankets down between them. She sits up, letting the blanket fall off her frame but seeming to take care not to let the cold air get under the blanket to May, and grabs the nearest jumpsuit, checking the size tag.

“This one’s yours,” the girl says, tossing the garment onto the blanket over May’s chest before spotting the other one near the foot of the mattress. She reaches across and grabs it, kicking the blanket off her lower half in order to thrust her legs into the pants before standing up on the mattress and shrugging on the upper half.

May watches her silently, admiring the lines of Bobbi’s frame, as much as she can make out in the dim light of the room.

“You see where the socks ended up?” the girl asks, zipping the garment all the way up and tugging her tousled hair out of the neck.

May’s legs shift beneath the blanket as she gropes around her leg. She finds what she was looking for and holds the pair up to Bobbi. “I think I was sleeping on them.”

Bobbi grins, plopping down again and grabbing them from May. “Perfect-they’re already warm.” She pulls them on quickly and then gets to her feet.

May watches as Bobbi first crosses to the window and tugs the blackout curtain back a few inches, letting a shaft of daylight invade the room. Once her eyes adjust, May squints into the light, and makes out Bobbi staring up at the sky.

“Sky looks clear—weather should be fine for extraction tonight,” she says, turning and glancing back at May. “You have any idea how far away the coordinates for extraction are?”

May shakes her head, turning her face away from the light. “Not without checking a map.”

She listens as Bobbi crosses the room again and crouches to add wood to the rack in the fireplace, unhurriedly rebuilding the fire with logs, sticks, and kindling. May opens her eyes as she hears the girl poking aside the ashes to expose a few glowing embers and touch a rolls of paper to them, as if she’s challenging herself to not use the gas line to start the fire again. Once she catches a flame on the paper and gets the wood lit in three different places, she waits until the flames spread before standing up and stepping away, letting the fire feed itself.

“Nice job,” May says quietly, still not moving from the mattress.

“Thanks.”

Bobbi takes the kettle off the stand to the industrial sink in the corner of the main room and refills it as May finally reaches for her jumpsuit and brings it beneath the blanket to shove her feet back into the pantlegs, squirming gingerly around the bruises. As she sits up to shrug into the sleeves, Bobbi sets the kettle on the burner and relights the flame beneath it.

“Let’s see what other goods we can find around here…” she says then, crossing the room to the piles of crates as May extracts her own socks from beneath the blankets and pulls them on.

A few slams of lids later, a bottle of pills lands on the mattress beside May.

“There’s some ibuprofen,” the girl calls, her voice echoing as she leans into a crate. “And, hey, check it out, there’s some cookware too. We might have a decent meal yet.”

“Anything instant in there that I could eat before I take these?” May asks, shaking the bottle of pills, feeling a little lazy but not minding staying right where she is on the island of warmth.

A few energy bars come flying over Bobbi’s shoulder, but only one lands on the mattress.

“Don’t fill up on the energy putty—I think I can make us something decent with the canned stuff I’m seeing here.” The kettle is whistling already, and Morse lets the lid of the crate slam shut as she crosses back to the fire and grabs the kettle.

“Would you prefer coffee or tea with your painkillers?” she asks as she brings the water to the mattress, offering May a packet of instant coffee or a tea bag from her other hand.

“I actually hate coffee,” May responds, reaching for the tea bag.

“No shit?” Morse responds, sounding genuinely surprised. “You strike me as someone who takes it black and strong.”

“I feel like this is where I’m supposed to say something about how I like my men, but…”

They share a smile.

“How did you make it through college and Academy without coffee?” Bobbi asks as May drops the fresh tea bag in her empty mug from the night before and tosses the old one into the fire.

“Red Bull and green tea, though never together,” May responds as Morse pours water into her cup over the tea bag, “If I need caffeine and there’s no better option than coffee, I can muscle through a cup, but it will never be my first choice.”

Morse drops a fresh teabag into her own mug and refills it too while May rips open the packaging of an energy bar and pulls off a small piece to wake up her stomach. By the time she’s downing a few pills, Morse has settled back on the mattress beside her, leaning back on one hand and balancing her mug on her thigh with the other.

The silence as they drink their tea and watch the fire is comfortable, but May feels her mind drifting to the previous night’s activities, trying to reconcile the memories of what happened with all her prior experience with the girl at her elbow. As she glances subtly over at her, May can now, in the spill of daylight, see the subtle evidence of their night—the tangled mess of hair, the extra bruise on Bobbi’s neck…

Last night was everything Morse had promised it would be, but now May finds herself unsure of how far the intimacy carries. Just because the girl beside her got her off more than once (more than twice) last night, does it also mean that May is allowed to reach over and run her fingers through those long curls again if she wants to?

Her hand twitches on her leg. She makes it stay still.

“You know what I just realized?” she girl interrupts, glancing over at May. “We left all our other clothes on the bathroom floor, and they’re probably still soaking wet.”

“That’s exactly what _I_ was thinking,” May says carefully, looking away.

“Tell you what—why don’t you go get them and figure out some way to hang them up around the fire, and I'll work on something for us to eat that isn’t shrink-wrapped?”

Bobbi gets up without waiting for an answer, returning to the crates and starting to pull items out. May takes this as her cue and stands slowly, stretching out her limbs and back.

 _Guess that’s as far as this goes,_ she thinks, and makes her way to the bathroom.

The next hour passes with them working on their separate tasks. May does one better and scrubs out their clothes with a package of detergent in the sink, rinses them all three times with water that isn’t from a river, then wrings them out over the sink as best as she can with her splinted wrist. To dry them, she tips one of the army bedframes on its side and drags it into the main room to stand upright in front of the fire and hold all their clothes in the warmth.

“You didn’t have to wash everything,” Bobbi says from where she’s working on something in a pot on the camp stove, sounding a little surprised.

May just shrugs as she hangs the items one by one over the metal bedframe. “It’s something to do.”

Not long after that, the room is filled with a smell that makes May’s stomach growl impatiently, and Bobbi tastes a spoonful before announcing the food ready. She spoons a serving into a tin bowl and hands it to May, along with a set of camp utensils.

“I know chili’s not really an orthodox breakfast, but I think we’re far enough past noon that it shouldn’t matter much.”

“All this was in the crates?” May asks incredulously, staring down at the chili in her bowl. She can see at least six ingredients, which is four more ingredients than she’s ever used in a single dish.

“Canned food can make miracles when you know what combinations to make,” Bobbi responds, serving herself a bowl and then turning off the burner. “And for whatever reason, they had one of these in the crates.” She points at something that looks like a tackle box on the floor beside her.

“What is it?” May asks, sitting down cross-legged on the mattress.

Morse holds up a few clear plastic packets filled with powders of various colors. “Essentially? A spice rack. I’m shocked SHIELD thought it worth supplying, but I’m not complaining. It’s probably a passive way of apologizing to whatever agents ended up stuck in a safehouse in backwoods Bulgaria,” Bobbi smirks as she covers the pot and moving to sit beside May on the mattress.

“I can’t remember adding more than salt and pepper to anything I’ve ever made…” May admits sheepishly, digging her spoon into the pile of meat, vegetables, and beans hiding in the red stew.

“What do you live on?” Bobbi asks, starting in on her own food without hesitation.

“Typically, whatever takes the least amount of prep and will carry me the longest to my next meal.” May take a bite of the stew and closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of something hot sinking slowly to her stomach. “This is great, by the way.”

“Someday, I’ll have you over for a real meal,” Morse promises, and May opens her eyes. The girl is focused on her food, it seems, so she doesn’t see May eyeing her concernedly. “I can do a lot better when there’s an oven and a supermarket available.”

“Do you live around the Academy still?” May asks to move herself over the strange invitation.

“Yeah, just north of it. You?”

“I keep an apartment there, yeah.”

“Well, if I’m in town, you’d better hit me up for a drink after your next mission. It’s the least I could do,” Morse smiles, her eyes flickering to the splint on May’s wrist.

May continues to eat in silence, unsure of how to reply to that, too. The hints at seeing Bobbi again are not necessarily unwelcome, but everything about that idea throws up red flags.

_Bobbi made it clear this wasn’t just a roll-n-run, but we didn’t exactly make it clear that this wasn’t more than a 24-hour parentheses…_

May steers them away again.

“We need to get our guns cleaned out before we leave—did you see the ammunition crate earlier?”

“Yeah, it’s the bottom one over there,” Morse answers, pointing with her spoon. “I pulled out the log and inventory too, so we can dig out the map and get our route planned out for tonight too.”

The next hour passes just like that. May washes the bowls and utensils (there’s enough soup that Morse insists on leaving it to eat in the evening before they leave) while Bobbi pulls out the kit and they set to work beside each other on the mattress cleaning and reloading their guns. May finishes first and pulls the map over, plotting out the coordinates given to them over the phone that morning.

“Looks like there’s a flat area on the other side of the slope east of us…” she thinks out loud, laying her pencil between the two points. “The land between looks relatively harmless, but I can go scout it out before the sun goes down.”

“Your clothes dry yet?” Bobbi asks without looking up from her gun. “I wouldn’t go out without more than a single jumpsuit layer.”

May reaches over and touches her jeans. They still feel damp, but probably bearable.

“They’ll do.”

“Can I join you?” Bobbi asks, glancing up as she snaps the clip into her gun with a final click. “Or are you going to tell me that someone needs to stay here in case the phone rings again?”

May shakes her head quickly. “I’ll take a walkie. Let’s get them charged.”

Morse digs the walkie-talkie set out of a crate and plugs them into the speed-charger while May redresses in front of the fire. Her coat and shoes, which _were_ left in front of the fire last night, are the driest of the articles, and she wills herself not to shiver as she pulls her damp underwear on.

“You know, it sort of defeats the purpose of layering if you’re essentially strapping ice to your skin,” Morse says, walking up beside May and touching her own clothes on the drying rack and feeling the dampness. “Just wear the jumpsuit. Put on another one if you want to layer up.”

May wordlessly consents to this suggestion only because she wants to stay outside as long as possible and has no intention of going home with pneumonia. After pulling on her sports bra, still clumsy with a splinted wrist, Bobbi tosses her an extra jumpsuit from the other room, and May pulls it on after redressing in the suit from before.

“Now, remember,” Bobbi says, bringing May her gun holster as she sits to pull on her shoes, “don’t talk to strangers, and if someone asks you to take a ride in their car—“

“I’ll kick their ass and come straight home.” May manages to say it with a smile, but she feels the discomfort in the room rising. She stands, strapping on her holster and shrugging on her coat before picking up her gun and walkie.

“Don’t wait up,” she says, picking up the map and compass and moving towards the door. “I’ll be back by sundown.”

“Don’t die out there,” Bobbi calls lightly, and May forces herself to look back at the smiling blonde and offer a small smile of her own before unlocking the door and stepping out alone into the blazing day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting ready to leave for two months of travel, so unless a miracle happens, don't expect the last chapter until March. I promise, it will end cheerfully enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! This fic continues! Told you there would be one more chapter. XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, it's been over a year since I last updated this story. But Femslash February was a great reason to come back and finish this up!

The coordinates aren’t far away, and there is only one good slope in between the safehouse and the assigned location for their airlift. May keeps her pace at a relaxed jog once she’s a safe distance (out of sight) from the house, picking her way carefully down the slope towards the valley below. She stops at a few points to observe the land and try to make a better plan for the trek, but she tries to keep her monologue to background noise as she uses her compass and the map to continue plotting her path.

The slope isn’t terribly steep, which will be good since the next time she climbs it will be after dark. She spends her time scouting several routes up the hill, ones that offer the best cover, but it still feels like too soon that she’s arrived at the coordinates and is trying to decide how much time she can stall before heading back to the house.

_Why did you let this happen?_

_This would have been a simple twenty-four-hour rest if you had just held yourself back._

_You got yourself into this Melinda, now you’ve gotta either break the girl’s heart or get yourself in trouble._

She can't put it off forever, though, and the sun is already starting to near the peak--she needs to head back now if she's going to beat dusk.

Bobbi is sprawled on her stomach on the mattress when she walks back into the house, the log and inventory spread in front of her and a pencil in her teeth, her hand resting lightly over the pistol on the floor beside her, which she releases as May comes through the door. The girl pulls the pencil out of her teeth and smirks as May comes in and relocks the door, kicking off her shoes before padding over the concrete floor to the fireplace again.

“Rough climb?” Bobbi smirks up at her, no doubt noticing May’s flushed cheeks and intentionally slow breath.

“Nah, it's not bad. Just nice to get some fresh air,” May responds noncommittally, unzipping and shrugging out of her coat. “Terrain’s pretty manageable between here and there, but I planned out an easy route for getting there after dark.”

“Sounds good,” Bobbi says, pushing herself and standing on those long legs, stretching her arms above her head as May busies herself with squirming out of the extra jumpsuit.

“Before you get too naked,” Bobbi says behind her, “you want to go outside and spar a little?”

May pauses, considering it, but then she thinks of how their brief tussle on the mattress this morning had ended.

“I’d rather not be sore again,” she says, shaking her head.

“Come on, I’ll go easy on you,” the younger agent teases, and May bristles automatically.

“You’ll go easy on _me_ , kid?” she replies, rounding on Bobbi with a challenging look that evaporates as soon as she sees the triumph in her eyes.

“I thought that might work,” the girl grins, tossing May her jacket again. “Come on. Indulge me for at least one round. Or kick my ass and make it short. Your call.”

They’re back out in the fading day only a minute later, guns strapped on their thighs because this is still hostile territory but with no plans to use them. The two of them sweep over the clearing in front of the house, kicking fallen branches and errant stones out of the way in case either one of them manages a takedown.

“I've heard that from plenty of people in SHIELD that if I want a fair fight with you, I ought to be armed,” Bobbi muses as she picks up a stick the length and thickness of her forearm to hurl it out of the way. “Does that sound about right?”

“I mean, if you want to bring a stick to a fistfight, that’s your choice,” May shrugs, noticing that her head throbs a little with all the bending and straightening ( _more painkillers later…_ ).

Bobbi tests the weight of the stick, twirling it once in her hand with impressive dexterity, before breaking it over her knee and tossing the pieces out into the woods.

“Wouldn’t last long anyway,” she says, going back to their task.

Once the space around them is free of any other debris, the two of them stretch out sore muscles while laying down the ground rules.

“No hair-pulling,” Bobbi says, working her hair into a knotted ponytail while stretching out her hamstring with the assistance of a tree trunk.

“No going for yesterday’s injuries,” May adds, feeling the ache of her diagonal path of bruises as she stretches out her shoulders.

“No dirty distractions,” Bobbi returns in a voice that makes May unsure if she’s meant to hear it as a joke. She avoids the girl’s eyes and finishes her stretching.

"Be nice when you lose," she says with a challenging look as they finally start the match.

Bobbi is long-limbed and limber, which makes for a fun challenge. Most of the people of Bobbi’s height that May has taken on in the past have tended to be twice the girl's weight, which makes this at least something new. Once they begin, May darts in quickly, attempting to gauge the other agent's instinctive reaction moves without getting caught in them. The girl is lighter on her feet than she expected, though, turning carefully away from May’s moves and not giving much of anything away.

“Who was your S.O.?” May asks as they circle one another for another moment, both feinting in halfheartedly one after the other.

“You didn’t read my file?” Bobbi asks, playful hurt twisting her mouth into a pout.

“I didn’t _memorize_ your file, kid,” May returns coolly. “Have a little humility.”

“Isabelle Hartley,” Bobbi answers, spinning away from one of May’s kicks again. “So if you were trained by Victoria Hand, that makes us stepsisters, if the rumors are true.”

May grimaces. “I don't keep up with Hand's personal business. And considering what we did last night, I’d rather you never said anything like that again, or we’re playing right into the worst of porn clichés.”

She can see the playful gleam in Bobbi’s dark blue eyes even as she rushes in again, and then things move very fast.

Bobbi holds her own as May finally cuts loose, responding move for move and (nearly) blow for blow as their arms and legs collide in a rapid exchange. May actively tries to avoid striking Bobbi in the chest, which doesn’t really matter, since her goal is still to get the giant off her feet. Bobbi gets the upper hand only once, a move that May hasn’t seen in awhile but still knows four ways to get out of, and the position is quickly reversed with Bobbi’s knees hitting the ground only seconds later as May pulls her move that would normally end with her dislocating her opponent’s shoulder or breaking their arm.

“So that’s what I have to look forward to if I just stick with SHIELD a few more years?” Bobbi laughs, tapping the ground weakly with her other hand as May releases her arm.

“You don't need a few years,” May says fairly, stepping back as the girl clambers to her feet. “You held me off longer than most agents your age do.”

“That’s nice,” Bobbi says with a knowing smirk, “but I doubt you’re as graceful of a loser.”

“Work a little harder and you might find out,” May challenges, and Bobbi smiles knowingly as she raises her hands again.

May wins round two in a little longer of a bout, and Bobbi has a few strands of dead grass in her ponytail when May helps her to her feet again.

“Give me one more chance—at least let me lose on an odd number,” Bobbi teases, shrugging off her jacket.

“Your funeral,” May shrugs, not wasting time before rushing in for the last round.

She’s not really sure _how_ it happens—one second her jab is flying past Morse’s ear, the next, she’s looking up from the ground at the branch-crossed sky above them, gasping to replace the air that was just knocked out of her lungs. Bobbi is on top of her before she can react, knees pinning down her thighs and hands holding her arms to the leaf-pillowed ground.

“Tap out,” the girl orders, eyes sparkling as she looms over May, barely attempting to suppress her grin.

May sighs, attempting a sour glare. “Did you seriously flip me?”

Bobbi’s grin widens. “You’re one of the lightest agents I’ve ever used that move on. I used to think you had to be at least 5’6’’ to ride the field agent ride.”

The comment makes her want to kick the younger girl off and reverse the pin, but she’s no match for the body weight pressing down on her. Deciding to play dirty, May manages is a sour glare and taps the ground once.

“ _Off_ ,” she orders, and Bobbi immediately releases her arms and shifts off her legs. May lunges before the girl can move further away, and though it would only take a second for her to pin an average female agent, it takes a little longer for her to manage a pin that allows her to hold Bobbi down.

The girl, however, seems to find it funny.

“I _knew_ you’d do that,” she declares smugly. "Told you you wouldn't be a graceful loser."

That uncomfortable feeling flares again, the sickening feeling that May is not actually the one in control in this situation. She releases Bobbi’s arms suddenly and sits up, but Bobbi’s hands come to rest on her sides before she moves further away.

Bobbi has a knowing look in her eye. “As long as you’ve got me here, did you figure out what you wanted to ask me?”

May considers playing dumb for about three seconds before remembering there’s no point. Still, she levels a sour glare at Bobbi again.

“You’re infuriating,” she mutters, but the girl only smiles.

“You know you like it,” she says, a smirk in her voice. “Now quit stalling and say what’s on your mind.”

May sits back on Bobbi’s thighs, and Bobbi sits up so that they’re eye to eye, her hands leaving May’s sides to press against the ground, supporting her torso.

_Come on Melinda, quit stalling._

“What were doing...” May begins slowly, “…are you expecting that we're going to do it again?” She forces herself to hold Bobbi’s gaze.

The girl smiles softly. “Well, I wasn’t planning dates or anything, but I wouldn't mind seeing more of you after this mission.”

May gives her an impatient look. “You and I both know what SHIELD’s policy on relationships within the organization is.”

Bobbi raises an eyebrow. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

She must have seen something in May’s eyes because Bobbi’s next few words are a quick backpedal.

“We both know SHIELD’s official policy on relationships within the organization, yes,” Bobbi says, lifting her eyes back to May’s. “Notify your direct superior when a change occurs in your relationship with another teammate, and no screwing your direct supervisor. Which, until we’re safely out of this country, is technically _you_. But you didn’t stop me yesterday, even though you had plenty of chances, so I’d like to think you were as into this as I was…and might not mind a repeat performance.”

“You’re not treating this like a one-mission-stand, though,” May presses back. “You’re treating me like…”

But all the words she could end that sentence with seem childish.

… _A girlfriend?_

_…Someone special?_

_…You actually like me?_

Something in Bobbi’s expression softens. It’s gentle, but it stops two steps shy of being pity— _It’s tenderness_ , May realizes with a start. _It almost looks like..._

Bobbi’s hands are back on her body, sliding around her hips to rest lightly on her back as the girl leans closer to May, her blue eyes sincere.

“Why do you think you don’t deserve that, Mel?”

When Bobbi leans up and kisses her once, May holds herself back, barely pursing her lips in response, but she stays where she is astride the girl's legs. There are so many alarms going off in her head, that everything about this is dangerous and unnecessary, but May can’t make herself move away. She needs to see how this ends.

Bobbi’s gaze is solemn as she pulls away, but her face lingers close to May’s.

“I like you, May,” she whispers, smiling gently. “I like you a lot. I’ve admired you since that mission in China, and I would—I will—respect you as an agent regardless of what has or hasn’t happened when we leave this house. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t really like what we’ve done so far and really want to do that…and other things, if you’re up for it.”

“I don’t need a girlfriend, Bobbi,” May says, and the girl winces a little.

“No one _needs_ a girlfriend. But we work for a male-dominated organization doing crazy things that we can’t tell just anyone about at the end of the day, so I sure wouldn’t mind having a girl friend to drink those things quiet with at the end of some days. I don’t think you need a girlfriend Mel, but I think you and I could both use a friend. And I want to be that for you in whatever way you'll let me.”

_Friends. At the very least. Can you handle that?_

May finally smiles. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” she agrees. “But you should know I’m not much of a talker.”

Bobbi grins. “I _have_ noticed that you’re more of a do-er.”

This time, the kiss feels lighter, not because Bobbi isn’t pressing in as much but because of the relief filling May’s chest as she wraps her arms around Bobbi’s shoulders, finally returning the hold. They manage only a moment of kissing before Bobbi leans out of the next one, and May opens her eyes.

“I don’t know about you,” the younger agent says, looking a little starry-eyed as she smiles at May, “but we’ve still got a few hours before our extraction and I would kind of like to take your clothes off again.”

May chuckles and kisses Bobbi once more before finally climbing off, pulling the girl to her feet and grabbing the discarded jacket off the ground.

“You’re already ahead of me,” she reminds her with a smile as they hurr, side by side, back towards the house.

* * *

The next few hours go too fast for May's liking.

It’s as good as the night before, this time with a little more familiarity and slightly less pain from the lingering bruises. They take their time, with Bobbi happily surrendering to May’s dominance this time as she returns all the girl’s attention from the night before in spades.

Before they pack up, they rinse off beneath the shower once again, taking turns beneath the spray helping each other scrub and rinse. May notices Morse’s hands lingering just a little over her scars and feels her lips brush once over the hidden gash beneath her hair, which she’s trying desperately not to get wet (she’s not going out in this cold with wet hair…). She runs her hands over Bobbi’s skin in response, basking in the warmth that is no longer limited to the timeline of this mission.

They re-dress in their own clothes and close up shop appropriately. Crates are repacked, paperwork is tucked into pockets, and Bobbi is pulling on her coat and shoes when May reaches into the control box to kill the power and turn off the gas.

“All set?” she asks, zipping up her coat as she approaches Bobbi by the door. The girl straightens up, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“One more thing,” she says, grabbing the front of May's coat with both hands.

It’s perhaps the best kiss she’s ever received—when it’s over, and May is pressed against the wall, struggling for breath, and Bobbi is leaning over her, bright-eyed as her flushed lips pull into that gorgeous smile.

“I hope we work together again soon,” she whispers against May’s lips, and May can only smile back.

“Me too.”

It’s a good thing that they don’t have time for anything else—it makes it easier to separate, to open the door and step out into the cold night and throw the lock in the door behind them. But as they stride into the darkness again together, May feels Bobbi’s hand catch hers, lacing their fingers together, holding on as they plunge through the trees towards their destination and letting go only when they both hear chopper blades in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some notes that could be a tiny little epilogue chapter, just a small piece to connect this to part three in this series. Stay tuned ;)


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How things change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter obv has a very different voice than the previous ones--we're condensing a few years and a lot of emotions into a very short chapter, and this was the way I wanted to do it. :P
> 
> Last day of February ;) Please enjoy.

It is never the same twice.

Life hits in full force immediately after they get back to America. They’re given 24 hours leave once they fill out their reports and have both reported to medical (the medic who checks out May’s head wound says that Bobbi should have shaved the hair around the gash in May’s scalp before putting in stitches, but Bobbi just laughs from the next bed and dares him to try). When they report back to HQ a day later to sit down with Command for debrief, Bobbi smiles when May walks into the room, but it’s a look that doesn’t betray anything—she just looks genuinely happy to see her.

They are professionals, meaning that while they sit around the table with the long-ops command, their gazes do not linger on each other, and their feet do not touch under the table. There are no knowing smiles when their mission leader asks them about each other's performance in Bulgaria, and May would almost be offended if she weren’t doing her best to affect the exact same indifference towards the junior agent across from her. She recommends Bobbi for future solo operations (the girl aced it—no reason to pretend like she’s not impressed), Bobbi praises May’s driving skills and cool head under pressure, and that’s all.

When Bobbi invites her out for a drink that night, though, it's a different story.

They don’t even make it to one of their apartments first—they wind up in the bathroom together before they leave, pressed against the wall in the last stall with hands down each other’s jeans as they catch each other’s giggles and gasps with kisses until they’re both satisfied and smiling. Bobbi drives them both to her place afterward and puts on _The Empire Strikes Back_ while opening a bottle of tequila (“Do a shot every time someone mentions the Force or someone breaks out a lightsaber.”). May wakes up on the sofa with a hangover and all her clothes still on, but she’s snuggled against Bobbi beneath a throw blanket, and that hardly feels like a loss.

They resume normal life (as normal as it gets for them) with training and assignments, and though their times between missions don’t always overlap, May is surprised by how much they see each other in the following months. Sometimes Bobbi shows up the day after May comes home from a mission with a bag of groceries and cooks them lunch while demanding stories from May’s latest missions and catching her up on all the SHIELD gossip. On other occasions, they go out. Sometimes Bobbi drags her to the gym, to a movie, to dinner, and none of those nights end with them in bed together (okay, they don't _always_ end that way). In between it all, they get to know each other more with a surprising amount of talking (surprising for May, anyway). Bobbi has plenty of stories to share, but she also seems to have a sixth sense that tells her when May's not really interested in talking anymore, and somehow silence with Bobbi never feels awkward.

They only get to work together again once in that time, a mission in Argentina that lasts just under a week. They lay down ground rules--not until the mission's over, only behind locked doors, don't tell the others without agreeing beforehand...--and if any of the teammates suspect why exactly the two of them arrive late and ruffled at their extraction point that night, no one says anything.

A couple of years after Bulgaria, Bobbi gets sent to South Africa for a deep undercover mission that ends up lasting seven months, and by the time she comes back, May is dating Andrew Garner. Bobbi invites her out for a drink anyway and wants to hear everything, and even though she can tell Bobbi is trying hard to be her usual self, she can tell that there is something different in the air between them. Still, if May had had a proper wedding and not just eloped, she thinks she probably would have invited Bobbi. She gets a congratulatory text message only a few days after her marriage is logged on her SHIELD file, one she replies to with a simple _Thank you,_ and maybe it isn’t so surprising that she sees a lot less of Bobbi after that.

She’s only married fourteen months before she’s sent with Coulson to Bahrain.

Two months after her transfer to Administration and three weeks after she moves out of Andrew’s house, Bobbi sends her a message.

_I’m really sorry. What do you need?_

May never replies.

There is a night a little while later when Bobbi calls her while May is drinking alone in her apartment and remembers too late not to pick up her phone.

“ _What?_ ,” she mutters, letting her voice get her state across.

Bobbi sounds hesitant on the other side. “Just wanted to know if you were all right.”

May almost hangs up the phone right there, but for some reason, she doesn’t. 

“Of course I’m not all right.”

There is a long pause. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it, but could I come over anyway?"

“You know where I live now?” May asks instead of answering.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes,” Bobbi says and hangs up.

She’s technically still married, and May thinks she knows what this visit isn't. She doesn’t let herself dial back and tell Bobbi not to come, though.

When Bobbi arrives, May says nothing as she unlocks the door and lets her in. Bobbi is as tall as ever but now wears her size with a security that a few more years of experience have put there, but the smile she offers when May opens the door seems a little more uncertain than it once was. May can’t get her facial muscles to even attempt to mirror the expression, though, and it seems like Bobbi processes with a single glance that she does not want to be hugged this time.

Bobbi has a sack of groceries hanging from one hand, and May pulls out another glass and sets it on the coffee table next to her bottle while Morse puts things away in the kitchen. When Bobbi comes to join her, it’s only to drink a single glass before she picks up the bottle and takes it to the kitchen sink and pours it down the drain.

“You don’t have to do this to yourself, Mel,” Bobbi says disapprovingly when she sits back down across from May.

“That’s not a choice you get to make for me,” May sighs, curling into the arm of the sofa and putting her head down against it.

“This isn’t who you are, Melinda,” Bobbi says, sounding like she’s speaking through ten feet of water, far enough away that she feels easy to ignore even as she uses a name she’s never called May. “You can bring yourself back whenever you decide to stop swimming down.”

May closes her eyes and says nothing else for the rest of the night, sinking further away from the distant surface.

She wakes up stretched out on her sofa, head on a pillow, body under a blanket, and Bobbi curled in the armchair beside her. The girl wakes as soon as May moves but says nothing about the night before, just goes to the kitchen and silently makes them both tea and toast. May doesn’t have the heart to look Bobbi in the eye, so she just asks her to leave.

Bobbi goes without protest or pitying looks, but May can feel her disappointment as she closes the door.

Later that day, when she forces herself to the kitchen on a leg that barely twinges in pain when she walks anymore, she sees juice and fresh vegetables in the fridge, a loaf of bread on the counter, and a note left next to a single key that does not belong to her.

 _Whatever you need,_ the note reads. _You’re always welcome._

May throws both the note and key in the trash.

They only see each other one more time before SHIELD falls. It’s years later, just a few weeks after the Battle of New York, and May is leaving the office late one evening after another endless day of generating red tape to satisfy the various government agencies that SHIELD has to partner with to cover this mess. Instead of heading for the exit though, her feet take her mindlessly towards the training gym down in the basement levels.

Her locker is, ostensibly, still there, still marked with her name on a piece of tape and locked with the padlock she put there in another lifetime. She knows someone should have cleaned it out by now, but seeing the relic of her former life there is both comforting and invigorating. The shoes inside feel stiff, but they still fit; her clothes smell musty, but she doesn't care. Out in the deserted training room, she ties back her hair, wraps her hands, and does to a punching bag what she wasn’t there to do to the demigod who put a spear through her best friend’s heart.

Her arms and shoulders burn and sweat sticks her hair to her face when she finally lets herself stop, resting her forehead against the bag and hating the universe, hating SHIELD, hating herself for pulling away from them both. She hears the door open on the other side of the room and turns away, resuming punching as if her life depends on it and sending the bag swinging.

Two familiar hands catch it from the other side, and a weather-beaten Bobbi Morse is staring sadly at her when May finally raises her head.

“Not on the ground in New York anymore?” May asks, feigning indifference.

“Not hiding behind a moat anymore?” Morse responds, waiting with a careful gaze.

May looks away and brings a hard punch against the bag, and Bobbi shies away from it on the other side.

“I’m sorry about Phil,” she says sincerely, turning to go.

“Morse,” May calls after her before she can change her mind.

The girl— _no, not a girl anymore_ —the younger woman turns back and meets her eyes. “Bobbi, remember?” she says, and the familiarity of that phrase seals May’s decision.

“Spar with me,” she demands, stepping away from the bag.

Something in Morse’s eyes seems to come back to life.

“Absolutely.”

She’s exhausted and out of practice, and she guesses that Bobbi is consciously holding herself back to make it a little more of a fair fight, but it doesn’t matter—it feels like coming home. The moves come back to her like riding a bicycle, and May is just so relieved to find everything right where she left it that she doesn’t even notice the look on Bobbi’s face as they collide again and again with one another.

When Bobbi does finally take her down, May finds herself unable to move from her position supine on the mats for a moment, staring upwards as if from the bottom of a lake. Bobbi eventually kneels concernedly beside her, possibly saying something May can’t quite hear, and May finally turns a quiet gaze back on her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers up at her old friend, the weight in her chest seeming simultaneously a lot lighter and a lot more painful. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry…”

And suddenly, everything breaks.

She covers her face and rolls on her side, away from Bobbi, as six years of fury condense into a deluge of tears. It hurts more than anything has ever hurt in her life, but maybe it’s only because it’s everything crushing her all at once, the dense center of a black hole that she had been orbiting for years, pushing everyone else away so they wouldn’t get sucked into it with her. She can barely hear herself as she gasps and sobs behind her wrapped-up hands, trying and failing to quiet a hurricane, but it’s only a moment later that she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, cautious but certain, tying onto her and keeping her from getting swept away completely.

She loses track of time, but Bobbi is still there when she can breathe again and finally raises her head for a decent lungful. She rocks slowly onto her back and stares upwards again, feeling her heart settling into a new space with less clutter around it, and Bobbi stands wordlessly, looking down at her with a question in her eyes.

May holds up a hand expectantly.

_Help me._

_Help me back up._

Bobbi doesn’t let go of May’s hand once she’s on her feet, though. One tug brings her close enough for Bobbi to pull her into a fearless embrace, her long arms going around May’s shoulders like they belong there. May stiffens automatically but doesn’t pull away, and finally she moves her own arms to hang limply around Bobbi’s waist, pressing into the solidity of another person who she once taught how to get back up.

Above her, Bobbi sighs against her hair, a sound that echoes with sadness and relief.

“Welcome back, Agent May,” she says. “It’s good to see you again.”

They don't see each other again for two years. 

After SHIELD falls, after John Garret is finished and their tiny team is setting up shop in the Playground and trying to move forward with the tools that Fury gave them, Coulson passes May a list of contacts to start following up with, agents they want to track down.

She delegates the list to Skye and a few other agents but makes sure to keep the piece of it with a familiar name on it. In the end though, it's Bobbi who contacts her first.

"May. I'm so glad you're all right."

"Bobbi."  _Not Morse._ "We have a job for you as soon as you can get there."


End file.
